


Reflecting

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A broken mirror leads Lucas North to reflect on his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflecting

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's pic for 1,000 challenge #013.
> 
> For the following picture prompt: https://www.flickr.com/photos/lolz_its_katherine/5118061704/in/photostream/lightbox/

Lucas North wasn’t surprised that their suspect had left by the time they entered the house. It was a long shot, but one that had been worth pursuing nevertheless. Although it would appear he had left in a hurry, the cracked mirror in the hallway being testament to the corner of a bag or other item knocking into it as the suspect had departed; the undisturbed shards of glass on the carpet evidence it had been broken at the point of departure.

Lucas glanced at the mirror and gave a wry smile. Now that it was cracked the reflection was no longer true, which seemed so appropriate for his life. If you looked straight into a mirror you were supposed to see yourself - looking into this one he saw only parts. And that made sense. There were still parts of the man he had been before the mission to Russia: Harry’s protégé, clever, incisive, single-minded. And yet, like the mirror, these attributes were now all flawed and lacked the sharpness that was once there.

At the same time there were parts of the Russian prisoner; tortured, abused, lonely and frightened. The tattoos he bore were only an outward symbol of the inward marks. It is said that the eyes are mirrors of the soul. Lucas didn’t like to look too long into his eyes, the darkness and turmoil still frightened him.

He caught a glimpse of Ros Myers in the mirror and realised she must equally have seen him. What did she see there? Did she see the facade he had carefully constructed since his return; someone who had overcome the obstacles, capable once more of playing their part, who could be trusted in their role in the team? Or did she see the man who was constantly walking a tightrope, unsure of where he belonged, battling hidden demons?

He watched as Ros walked up to join him, turning at the last second to face her.

“Seven years bad luck for someone,” she remarked, nodding her head towards the mirror. “And they deserve it. Not that I believe in such superstitions.”

“Neither do I,” Lucas answered, then muttered, “And I certainly don’t recall breaking any mirrors before I was sent to Russia.”

Ros looked sharply at him, but he looked steadily back at her, his mask once more securely in place. He wondered whether she was going to comment, but the moment passed.

Instead she said, “I’ll take the bedroom, you take the living room and let’s see what more we can find out about our Mr X. We need to know where he was planning to go and if possible what he’s intending to call himself.”

Lucas worked his way steadily through the room, opening drawers, pulling books from the bookcase, searching behind the pictures on the wall. He found an address book and flicked through it. There were very few entries; a couple of numbers he recognised as being old CIA contacts, but since the only number under ‘H’ was Harrods and ‘T’ was the ticket office of the Tower of London he was fairly sure their suspect was having a laugh at their expense. He would take the book back anyway, in case there was something hidden within the numbers, but he doubted it. Even the fingerprints were of little use, since they already had them on record and the owner of the fingers was remaining elusive.

He walked back into the hallway and stared at the shards of glass on the floor. That was what it felt like, broken fragments of a life once whole, scattered on the floor, walked over and trampled down. Impossible to bring them back together and recreate the whole. He looked up at the mirror. Could it be taped over and still be useful, however imperfect it was now, or would it continue to lose slivers every time, as it rattled when the door banged?

Ros came out of the bedroom. “Lucas. Lucas! Did you find anything?”

“Just this.” He showed her the address book. “I’ll take it back to the Grid, see if Malcolm can get anything from it, although I think it’s unlikely.”

“Right, there’s nothing more here, we might as well get back.” Ros looked at him. “Unless you have a particular wish to vacuum up the broken glass, I suggest you make a move too.”

Lucas nodded and followed her out of the flat.

Once back at the Grid, Lucas handed Malcolm the book. Malcolm looked curiously at him.

“Are you okay?” Malcolm asked. “You’re looking very pale.”

“Yes, of course I am,” Lucas paused. “We were too late, there was nothing there. Frustrating, but nothing more.”

“You seem rather agitated, given there was nothing to see.”

“There was a broken mirror; it got me thinking.” Lucas swallowed, trying once again to mask his features.

“You do know it’s still early days,” Malcolm said. “Look, nothing’s going to happen here for a while - we’ll let the great and the good have their confab. Why don’t we go and grab a coffee, and you can tell me about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“In which case, we can drink our coffee in silence. Come on, my treat.”

Malcolm put his hand in the middle of Lucas’ back and urged the younger man to leave the building. Lucas acquiesced, not having the energy to argue.

They stood, leaning on the railings, looking over the Thames, coffees in hand. Lucas was grateful that Malcolm kept to his word and remained quiet. He watched the river flowing along. The sun had come out and he looked at the reflections in the water; the landing stage, the ferry boats travelling up and down, the clouds crossing the sky. The reflections changed constantly with the movement of the river, each moment different and yet strangely soothing. Lucas wondered whether he could view his life as a river rather than a mirror and if so whether that would ease some of the pain.

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Reflecting (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445193) by [Caveat_Lector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caveat_Lector/pseuds/Caveat_Lector)




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